


Mind Games

by Bazylia_de_Grean



Category: Pillars of Eternity
Genre: Ambiguous Relationships, Ashfall, F/M, Gen, Just what the title says, bits of worldbuilding too, mentions of Magran, mentions of past Lady Webb/Thaos, the beginning of the Saint's War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-09
Updated: 2017-10-01
Packaged: 2018-12-25 13:02:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12036432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bazylia_de_Grean/pseuds/Bazylia_de_Grean
Summary: There is a gleam to his eyes that she does not like, not at all.“Tell Eydis that I will help. Tell Eydis that I will give her all the Key has at its disposal, all the information on your enemy you might possibly need.” There is a gleam to his eyes that she does not like, but it makes her stomach flutter. “For a price.” He looks into her eyes. “Tell her that price is your mind. And when she says yes, return here.”(There is war brewing on the borders with Readceras, and the Dunryd Row knows that the only way to stop a god might be to get the help of another. But the price might be too high, both for the country and for the agent who agreed to lay down her life for it - but not her soul.)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Filigranka](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Filigranka/gifts).



> Sorry about the fic being so choppy, but it would take a looot more time and words to write this idea properly. Loosely based on Lady Webb’s dialogue about those agents she loses when she sends them to spy on the Leaden Key. Enjoy!

Lady Webb’s study is dim, the only source of light a single window. It is barely dawn, and the room looks like made of molten silver and rippling shadows. Very appropriate.

“You will go to Ashfall.” Lady Webb says, without preamble. They have been discussing possible options for days. “If anyone can protect us against Eothas, it’s Magran.” A mirthless, yet still amused smile appears on her lips. “We’ll fight fire with fire.” Her eyebrows arch. “What was that thought again, girl?” There is no way she could have missed that, not with how powerful she is. Just one of her ways of forcing an answer out.

“You’ve never been very devoted, my lady.”

“No.” She turns away, towards the window, looking through the glass and bygone years. “I don’t get in the gods’ way, and they don’t begrudge me for it. But when a god goes out of his way... I guess it’s time for me to go out of mine.” A quiet, dry laugh, like the rattle of small bones and the rustle of dusty paper. “You think me presumptuous, don’t you? An old woman with delusions of grandeur?”

“No. An... experienced woman, with a great deal of power at her disposal.”

Lady Webb shakes her head. “It’s not enough.”

Whatever she’s looking at, it seems... What could it be that makes her expressions soften, if only for a while? Was that fondness? But she is not...

“Haven’t I taught you it’s impolite to pry into someone else’s thoughts, child?” she chides, like a kindly grandmother. Nothing could be further from the truth.

“Will that be all, my lady?”

Lady Webb turns. For a blink of an eye, in the peculiar light of dawn, she seems decades younger, the vines growing outside the window casting a shadow across her face. It looks like a mask.

“No,” she says, with a sigh. “There is one more thing you should know. But don’t tell the others unless you have to. They won’t be able to hide such thoughts.” Lady Webb frowns. “Even you might not be able to do that.”

“With all due respect, my lady, I...”

A wave of hand is enough to silence her.

“Listen, now, child, and listen well. There’s someone you might meet on your journey.”

There is a glimpse in her mind, when Lady Webb shares a thought: the face of a dark-haired, bearded man in dark robes. His eyes are two deep wells that have fire at the bottom, not water.

“He might look older than this. Or younger. But you’ll know him once you see him.” Lady Webb puts two fingers to her temple. “You’ll know him _here_.” She lowers her hand, leans against the desk. “If you find out he’s working for Raedceras, flee. And make haste. But if you find out he’s supporting Dyrwood...”

“Ask him for help?”

“No.” The white head shakes slowly. “Whatever you do, don’t ask for his help. You won’t be able to pay the price. Just tell me.” Lady Webb ponders something for a moment. “Don’t lie to him. Half-truths, pieces of truth, lies by omission, you might try that. But don’t lie to him. He’ll know. He always knows.”

She blinks in confusion. “But, why... Why this, why me? Why can’t I tell the others? We've always been much more effective working as a team, and...”

Lady Webb bites her lip. “I should have prepared you better.” A blink, and she is poised and composed once more. “You carry the legacy of your Glanfathan ancestors in your mind. Sharp mind. He’ll see that. He’ll see right away.”

Realisation hits like a thunderbolt.

“Was that why you asked if I was ready to lay down my life for Dyrwood?” She asks quietly. “Am I to be bait? And then what?”

“That, child, depends solely on the strength of your will.” Lady Webb raises her hand – a warning. “Just remember, whatever you find out, don’t ask for his help. Dyrwood cannot afford it.”

* * *

 

One moment she is trying to get a little closer to the figure near the altar, slowly creeping along the wall of the temple, invisible among darkness and shadows – she knows, no one can hide better than ciphers of Glanfathan origin, like her – and the next there is a burst of mind energy, and suddenly the stone floor tiles are on the ceiling and... She tries to get up and gasps as a hand holds her down.

“Don’t move, foolish girl.” The voice is quiet, even, but there is power behind each softly-spoken word.

Lady Webb was right. She knows. She knows in her mind and in her soul.

“Who are you? Who...” she goes into a fit of coughing. There’s blood on her hand when she wipes above her upper lip. By the gods. She didn’t even attempt to read him, merely tried to peek inside, just get a quick glance, nothing more.

“I could have been your doom.” The face that is leaning over her looks exactly like in the memory. “Eydis sent you, didn’t she? This has her name all over it. And in such lovely handwriting.”

She blinks. No lies, he will see lies. She knows in her gut that truth is the only way out. And that even without Lady Webb's warning, she would have instantly recognised there are reasons this man should be feared. Not for being forceful. For _not having_ to be.

“She just wanted to know. Which side are you on.”

“And if I was working for Raedceras?” he asks quietly. He is helping her get up, so when he speaks, his breath brushes over the back of her neck.

She shivers. In fear... and admiration. She has never met someone who could deflect her soul-searching attempts so easily, save for Lady Webb herself. Except that he is even stronger – not a protective, carefully constructed barrier of thoughts and will wrapped around his mind; the surface of his mind itself seems like a mirror. For a moment she wonders if it would deflect, if she tried to throw something at it, or if it would reflect it back at her.

“You would have had me killed in an instant and be done with it.” She risks a glance at him. “You don’t seem to be someone who would waste time.”

“Oh, it all depends on how you define wasting.” He takes a step back, turns her towards him. “Well, you've found me. And your information. What now, _rî_?”

A Glanfathan word... Well, where she is from is no secret, but she doubts he would have bothered to learn such details about all Dunryd agents, just in case. She could ask him how he knows. But there is a better reply yet.

“I’m not a wise one,” she says quietly. Meekly, almost, wondering if he will fall for that. If she is to be bait... well, she just wants to be done with it.

He laughs, then. They are in a forgotten, long abandoned underground temple, among walls that have not heard kith voices for ages, and there is something eerie in his laughter in this place. In his eyes.

This is, she thinks, a very dangerous man. But not only because of his power – and the strength of his soul and mind is apparent. Knowledge is power above all else – and he wields it, over her and over Lady Webb’s modest resources.

“Wiser than you think,” he replies. “Just as wise as Eydis hopes. Not in the ways you should be, though. You’re not the bait, _ŵen_. Your mind is.” There is a gleam to his eyes that she does not like, not at all. “Tell Eydis that I will help. Tell Eydis that I will give her all the Key has at its disposal, all the information on your enemy you might possibly need.” There is a gleam to his eyes that she does not like, but it makes her stomach flutter. “For a price.” He looks into her eyes. “Tell her that price is your mind. And when she says yes, return here. I will send someone for you.”

She stares at him. “Do you honestly think I will not spy on you?” She does not ask if he’s considered she could say no. Because she will not. That is why Lady Webb asked about giving her life for Dyrwood – to know. And then listened to her answer and acted accordingly.

“I have every hope you will, _ŵen_.” He smiles. “I have every hope you will.”

* * *

 

She stops dead in her track, forcing him to stop walking, too, if he wants to keep talking to her.

“You don’t really expect me to tell you everything about her plans?”

He looks at her over his shoulder, waits for a moment, then eventually turns. In the dimly lit corridor, he is just another shadow.

“Ah, but here’s the catch, _ŵen_. She knew you would tell me. And now you ask yourself how much she would want me to know. How much of what she now tells you is true. Why would she not feed you false information? She could, easily. More powerful than you, more experienced. So why don’t tell me all of it?” There is a lilt to his voice when he asks that question. “That’s what she ordered you to do, didn’t she? To give me the truth.”

“Which half-truth would you prefer, then?” she asks defiantly.

Thaos smiles. “Just truth, if you would.”

She is wary of his words, but his smile – that she does not trust at all.

“And if I disobey, then what? I’ll die?”

“I don’t throw away useful tools so easily.” He tilts his head to the side, like a curious wyrm. “Interesting. That doesn’t offend you?”

“Being called a tool?” She shrugs. “Why should truth offend me? It’s how we think about ourselves, in Dunryd Row.” She shrugs again. “Sometimes it’s easier to be just a magnifying glass.”

“Yes, it would be,” he says, nodding. “And no, you won’t die for disobedience. That’s not an issue. I will not give you any tasks that could provide you an opportunity to betray us.” He steps closer.

She raises her head, almost daring him to do that, to treat her like an insolent child. To try to prove he now has her in his grasp by the simple gesture of taking her chin in his hand.

Thaos watches her, smiling. He does a lot of smiling around her. Some of those are calculated smiles, smiles that remind her of sharp blades, despite their illusory softness. But sometimes, there is genuine amusement in the way his lips curl up. She is not certain whether it is about the look in his eyes or merely the curve of his mouth, but she can tell the difference instantly. That second kind of smiles unnerves her more. As if he could read her thoughts and mocked them quietly.

“I will tell you this,” he says, leaning in, sombre now. “The moment I have to choose between you and my oath, I will sacrifice you.”

She meets his gaze defiantly. “I expected nothing else. I am expendable.”

“You are.” His tone is flat, matter-of-factly, but there is something about it that makes her feel like a grain of dirt, unimportant in the workings of the world, so easy to overlook, like all other agents, tools that sometimes get lost, but no one weeps over them, because that is what sometimes happens with tools, they get lost or broken or bent...

She blinks. By the gods. By the gods. No kith should hold such power. By the... She laughs, then. By the gods, indeed. She has seen him saying devotions to Woedica often enough. It should not surprise her that the Burned Queen would grant her Favoured the power to cheat.

Thaos watches. It looks as if he was listening to the inner workings of her mind. Perhaps he can. That is exactly what he can do, she realises. Those earlier thoughts – those were her own. He just listens and finds a point of balance and then gently tips the scales by laying a feather on one pan.

Exactly what Lady Webb can do, except that he is more subtle, more precise, firmer, swifter. A sharper knife.

“Let me tell you something, _ŵen_. Yes, I would sacrifice you in an instant, had I to choose between you and my cause. But so would Eydis.”

“She...” Ah, but of course. She has seen Lady Webb do that before, send people into danger, for Defiance Bay, for Dyrwood, for the duc. For knowledge. “She would. I know that.”

“I’m not asking if you know. That much is obvious. I’m asking if she was honest enough to tell you.” There is a softer look in his eyes, almost like a hint of compassion. Or perhaps simply understanding, that of a puppet master who knows better than his dolls what happens when which strings are pulled. “Ultimately, it’s just a question of when. And which one of us will have to kill you first. And she knew this when she sent you here, with your skills as payment for the information she needed. That’s what you were, _ŵen_. Currency.”

She takes a breath. “I won’t play your mind games.”

When he touches her face, lifting her chin with his index finger, it is soft like a caress. “You already are. You have been, from the very beginning. Playing Eydis’ mind games as her pawn. And now playing mine, too, because she chose you too well.”

His voice echoes and echoes in her mind, in cresting waves of a river. And at last the dam breaks.

“Is this all just a game to you? To you both? The war, Dyrwood, the Dunryd Row, everything?”

“Not everything. Not for me.” There is something dark in his eyes, something she recognises as the truth. “But Eydis... yes, she is a game. A game I used to enjoy immensely. You can tell her that, next time you meet, our little double agent.” He smiles, very softly. “She really chose you well. You can tell her that, too.” His thumb brushes across her lips, just once. “And ask her if she would like to show you some memories of the games we used to play, before you discover them yourself.”

“Why should I ask when she won’t do that anyway?” She snatches his wrist, intending to push his palm away.

“That’s not what that question in supposed to accomplish,” he explains, unperturbed, not paying attention to her actions at all... and then he twists his hand and suddenly he is the one holding her. “But she will think of those memories. I let her live for two reasons. This is one of them.” He lets go of her hand. “There are better punishments than death. More painful. They can teach a lesson death never could.”

“And the other reason?” she asks, deciding she has heard enough.

“She’s still useful to me. Mind games, _ŵen_. I’m always a few steps ahead, even of her. You’d do well to remember that.” He turns and starts walking on, with his back to her.

If she did not know it would be futile, she would attempt to kill him, but she is not powerful enough. Besides, Lady Webb probably finds him useful as well.

Right now, she just wants to wash her hand, to scrub it clean. And maybe her mouth, too. Her lips still tingle where he has touched them. It is not unpleasant... Ah. No amount of water could ever wash that thought away.

Thaos stops and smiles at her over his shoulder, as if he has just remembered one more thing he intended to say. “Come find me when you decide you’ve had enough wondering and want to see for yourself.”


	2. Chapter 2

She looks at Lady Webb’s silhouette – a silent shape outlined against the window. That silence is an answer all in itself. But perhaps there is more to be learnt from it yet.

Reading a mind or soul requires subtlety. She is not certain she has enough, not for this particular mind, but still she tries – neither spying nor making herself invisible, just watching the scales and searching for the point of balance... A flash, just a brief glimpse of a familiar face, a crooked smile, dark hair _spilled across a pillow_... She tries to erase that image from her mind, to make it disappear, but she is quite sure she won’t be able to forget it.

Lady Webb turns, her face stern. “Here, child. Is that what you wished to see?”

The anxiety she expected doesn’t come. There is a hint of embarrassment, but nothing more. Not now, not after what she heard from him. Being a tool is one thing, but being a tool aware when it’s being thrown away to be broken when it hits the ground... now that is something entirely different. A magnifying glass should never be forced to _see_.

“I just wanted...” She shakes her head. “After all the years of faithful service, this is what you give me in return? Half-truths? My reward for loyalty is that I’m not trusted anymore?”

Lady Webb watches her for a moment... and then bursts into laughter. It’s dry, mirthless, mocking them both.

“Ah, Sîla, child... Have you never used half-truths? Have you never deceived anyone to reach your goal?” Her wrinkled face is ice and weathered stone now. “Put a hand over your heart and answer me.”

This isn’t what she wanted when she came here. It’s all wrong. All wrong... It’s his fault, she knows. His words, that have been slowly trickling into her mind and wearing her confidence away – her confidence, her trust, her... It’s all Thaos’ doing, his words, his suggestions, his arguments. It’s also true.

“Yes, it is.” Lady Webb’s eyes narrow. “You know how we work. You’ve done it before, yourself. You know we don’t do anything without a reason.”

It’s a nightmare. It opens her eyes and it’s a nightmare and it’s liberating in a terrible, soul-wrenching way. She’d rather remain blind. But it’s not her choice. The circumstances never are. She can only choose what to do within them.

“He tells me the same things,” she says quietly. “About having a reason.”

“Why, of course he would.” Tendrils of thin white hair flutter a little as Lady Webb sighs. “That’s why it had to be you. You’re the only one among my agents strong enough to stand a chance.”

She looks up at her mentor. “But not succeed?”

“It’s up to you. As I said. As I warned.” Lady Webb shakes her head. “Come back when you’ve thought it over, child. And think well. You know why we do it. And if you can’t, not any longer, just tell me.”

“I don’t know.” She sounds too close to pleading to her liking. “I don’t know any more. But I won’t betray the Row, if that’s what’s you’re worried about. Whatever happens, I won’t.” Her hands curls into fists in the folds of her robe, just for a moment, and suddenly she is calm and composed again. No one would fall for it – but maybe she will, and it’s what she needs right now. Confidence. Indifference. Aren’t they the same? “No words of comfort? Won’t you tell me it was worth it?”

“No, I won’t.” Lady Webb’s eyes bore into hers. “Ask yourself that, and find the answer in your soul. And I can give you all the warnings in the world, but you won’t heed them now, because our trust is tainted. And yes, I knew this, and yes, I’d do it again. Dyrwood is worth it, for me.” Lady Webb turns away, towards the window. “As for comfort, I’m sure Thaos will gladly offer you some,” she adds, after a while, “if you don’t want to learn from my mistakes.”

She stops, her palm on the door handle. “I would have, if you told me.” Her voice is so quiet it’s possible Lady Webb doesn’t hear it.

* * *

 

Predictably, she finds Thaos in the inner sanctum, kneeling in front of the altar and Woedica’s statue. It’s made entirely of adra, and in the flickering torchlight it seems almost alive, expression changing, hands moving. Not possible, of course, but still unnerving.

She has been thinking, and she found the answer. For Dyrwood, it was worth it, it was a small price. But for her, the price is her soul and peace of mind, and she’s not ready to pay that much. It’s his fault, all his fault... There are some lies all kith need to live. He took those lies from her and showed her the truth, and she wishes she could forget that, but it will not happen. Nor will she forget that brief memory – the flash of his smile and the gleam in his eyes – and she hates him for it. Hates him for playing her that well. But he’d know, of course he’d know; he’d been with Lady Webb, after all.

She also hates him for all those evenings when she imagines herself in that memory, her face over his. Looking _down_ at him. That would be power. She hates him for making her wish that.

Slowly, without a sound, she sneaks closer, towards him. I’m a shadow, she thinks, and then she doesn’t think at all, just looks at Woedica’s face and imagines how he sees it. The best place to hide from a cipher is among their own thoughts, blending in until it’s too late. She knows, she’s done it a couple of times, with wild ciphers that... No, she will not think of it now. Adra, gleaming, mesmerising. A brief, sharp smile on the Queen’s lips, one of amusement.

Her own hand on the dagger haft, steel cold and comforting. Steel, iron, Woedica’s crown. Gleaming blade, gleaming adra. Hidden, safe, certain.

The whisper of Thaos’ robe against her feet, so soft he doesn’t hear it, soft like a caress. Soft whisper of steel in the air.

Her reflection in Woedica’s adra eyes; cold, rough stone thrown against her back; the metallic clang as the dagger hits the ground. Thaos’ eyes inches from hers, his hand on her wrist, holding tightly enough to bruise. And his fingers on her neck, soft, gentle like a caress.

Thaos says nothing, just looks into her eyes and lets her discover everything herself. Brushes his thumb up her throat. Gently. So very gently. She’s never been more aware of her own mortality. Nothing could tell her more clearly that he could kill her with his bare hands, if he wanted. But he won’t. Nor with any weapon. No, when he kills her, it will be with his mind. He’ll lean in and snuff her out like a candle. She closes her eyes and shivers, doesn’t even try to fight because he’s already won. She’s never been more terrified in her life.

His hand moves to the back of her neck, thumb brushing her throat again, and now it _is_ a caress. That memory flashes in her mind, again, and she exhales shakily. She feels helpless and wants _him_ to feel that way, knows it will never be and wants it all the more. He’s standing too close and she can smell adra incense on his robes, and it’s wrong in so many different ways...

“Look at me.” His voice is soft. It’s much more powerful that way than if it was a command.

She forces her eyelids to rise and looks into his eyes. Deep, dark, endless. Adra gleaming and changing as the flames on the torches flicker.

“She told you, didn’t she?” It’s clear he doesn’t require a confirmation. “That she knew. It’s what you wanted, isn’t it, _ŵen_? To hear the truth from her?”

His fingers are moving up and down her neck in short little strokes, and she can’t focus. The smell of incense is suffocating.

“No, it isn’t.” She closes her eyes, shuts them tightly, hoping to shut him out of her mind as well. “I never wanted your truths. Never wanted your games. Just peace. Order. That’s why I did what I did. Why we all do it.”

“It’s what Eydis wants, too. And what I want. Amusing, isn’t it? That we’re adversaries sharing a common cause?”

She opens her eyes, blinks in confusion, then gets a grip on herself. There’s Glanfathan blood in her veins and it’s not for nothing.

“I don’t care what is it you play for. I’m tired of your games. I’ve told you, I won’t play. Find someone else.” She shakes her head. “Just kill me if I stand in your way and let’s be done with it.” She smiles, and it’s mirthless and derisive and there’s Durgan steel in it. “You’re not afraid of a little blood on your hands, are you, Thaos?”

She expects him to laugh, to mock her, maybe to tighten that hand on her neck in warning. Maybe to take her chin in his palm.

He lets go of her wrist and his fingers brush up her cheek. Gently. Caressing. Soothing. She freezes. And then tries hard not to lean into his touch.

“Wouldn’t it be a pity to waste you like that, _ŵen_?” Thaos murmurs, and it’s his voice that finally makes her resolve start melting away. “That sharp mind...” He threads his fingers through her hair. “It can be sharper, if you only let it.”

“No. I don’t want that.” Her will makes one last attempt to fight, but she can’t move, mesmerised by the soothing motions of his hand and the timbre of his voice. “Knowledge is bitter. Especially yours.”

“As I said, sharp mind.” He smiles, seemingly amused, but it’s forced and she can see it in the way the light in his eyes dies for a moment, and they’re no longer two wells but twin windows to a grave.

She looks inside. It makes her stomach turn. Another truth, one she never even wanted to guess, and he made her search for it herself. But what’s even worse is that right this moment, she can’t even hate him for it.

“That bitter?” she asks quietly.

The fingers in her hair tighten a little. “Do you want to taste it?” he asks, in a low voice.

There’s a sinking feeling in her abdomen. Yearning. More than that; desire. She wants him and he can surely see it, and she doesn’t even care. How has it come to this so quickly? When?

“No.” Her voice sounds pathetically weak. “No,” she repeats more firmly, straightening her shoulders, lifting up her head. “I don’t want anything from you.”

The light is back in his eyes again, flickering, dancing. Gleaming adra. She looks inside and falls, and falling she can measure time by the sound of her wildly beating pulse.

“Such a prettily constructed lie.” The fingers of both his hands meet at the back of her head. “I commend your abilities, _ŵen_. I didn’t think you capable of such a little masterpiece.” Slowly, very slowly, he leans in. “It’s not _anything_ you want. And not _from_ me, right?”

She’s waiting for him to finish the thought, to spell it out for her, because she could laugh at him if he did, she could break free, could turn away and leave. He doesn’t say it. Of course he doesn’t. Too smart for that. Too smart for her.

His warm breath washes over her mouth and she closes her eyes, thinking of his dark hair spilled across a pillow. It will be simple, just lust, it will be simple and over very quickly... With Thaos, nothing is ever simple.

When he kisses her, it’s not possessive or demanding, or passionate, or anything she might have expected. It’s gentle, soft, almost chaste, their lips barely brushing at all. It’s tender, and that shatters her into pieces.

It turns her blood into liquid fire, because she’s kissing the high priest of Woedica right under the Exiled Queen’s statue, and it’s wrong in so many ways, but all the more delicious and satisfying for it, and she can’t resist that. It’s barely even a kiss, but when Thaos pulls away she’s finds it difficult to breathe.

“Come back when you’ve thought it over, _ŵen_ ,” he says, in a quiet voice that promises all kinds of things.

Her eyes follow him as he leaves the inner sanctum; she wouldn’t be able to look away even if she wanted, and she doesn’t want to. Her lips tingle. Her stomach is in knots. She’s leaning against the wall because she feels too weak to stand on her own.

She’s been kissed and she’s had lovers, but nothing has ever affected her as much... Something so small and insignificant, and yet enough to make her a complete mess.

It’s so obvious, now; she really should have expected it. Should have figured out that if he uses his mind in everything he does, seduction would be no different.


	3. Chapter 3

“Still trying to kill me, _ŵen_?” Thaos asks when she walks into his study. “You should work on your sneaking skills.”

Her eyes flare, but all she can do is glare daggers at him and they both know it. Something that amuses him to no end.

“You should work on your witty repartees.”

“Oh?” His eyebrows arch. “The little stelgaer cub has claws?”

“Claws, teeth and a mind.” She sighs, exasperated. “Stop it, Thaos. We both know I lack the skills necessary to kill you.”

“And that’s the reason I should stop reminding you of it?” He shakes his head. “You’re too dangerous, too wilful, too stubborn, too rebellious. I have to remind you why you should be afraid of me.” He gets up from his desk and walks over to her. “But that also means I can give you truth.”

“I’m not here for truth.” She grips the front of his robe. “I’m not here for talking.”

Thaos lets her tug on his robe, puts a hand on the back of her neck and pulls her to him. “Not for truth, _ŵen_ ,” he whispers, lips tracing the outline of her ear. “Because of truth. Wasn’t it bitter enough, the last time?”

“I don’t know.” She leans against him, into his touch. “I didn’t get a proper taste.”

He laughs quietly, running his fingers up her back. “Playing a seductress, aren’t we?”

“I’m not playing.”

He just smiles in reply and cups her face in his hand. And then he kisses her, lips and tongue and a hint of teeth, and it’s sweet mead and bitter incense, and it burns like melting ice. His silence tastes much better than his truths. And his breath, just a little ragged when they finally part, that sounds and tastes the best of all.

“We’re still playing, _ŵen_. Except it’s an entirely different kind of game.”

“Don’t remind me.” Spoken a little too breathlessly to be a demand, but she’s trying.

“I wasn’t going to.” He leans in again, lips almost brushing hers with every word. “For that, we first need to make some memories.”

They keep kissing all the way to his bedroom, deep lingering kisses that make it difficult to tell when one ends and another begins. They fall onto the bed together, and she’s hovering over him, hips over his, face over his, looking at his dark hair spilled across the pillow. She moves her hands from his shoulders, and he catches her fingers in between his, stretches his arms over his head, and she ends up holding his wrists.

“It’s what you wanted, _enfath_ , isn’t it?” he asks quietly, his voice trickling down her spine in a shiver.

It’s what she wanted. But it’s all wrong, nothing like she imagined. She shouldn’t feel helpless when she’s the one holding him down, shouldn’t be the one that feels embarrassed... Powerless.

Thaos smiles up at her lazily, reading her discomfort from her face and thoughts. “Not what you wanted, after all, _anam_?” He’s not gloating, he’s not amused by this, he’s not teasing; merely proving a point.

“Stop. Stop that!” She lets go of his hands, stumbles back and off him. “Stop calling me all those things. I have a name. Use it.”

Thaos leans up on one elbow, reaches out, wraps a strand of her hair around his fingers. “Names are a dangerous thing.” Slowly, he pulls her closer, until he’s on his back and her face is over his again. His hand finds her hip. “You should know that, Sîla.”

She shudders when he says it. And then, using all her strength of will, she pulls away.

“They aren’t, not when you name tools.” She slips off the bed. “I won’t be playing your games. Not anymore.”

Thaos sits up. “Ah, you see, _ŵen_ , there’s something else you should know.” He is smiling. “By now, the game you’re playing is your own. And you’ll find, sooner all later, that’s the only kind of game you cannot really quit.”

“No?” She straightens, tugs her dishevelled robe close around herself. “Watch me.” This time, she is the one that walks away.

But no matter how far she goes, he’s still on her mind and in her thoughts. In her dreams. The gleam in his eyes, the curve of his smile, his kisses, and that soft dark hair spilled across a pillow. And how she didn’t want it, and how she’s never wanted anything that much in her entire life.

* * *

 

It would be easier if Thaos ignored her, but he doesn’t. No; he treats her as one of his acolytes, not exactly unkindly, but overall he’s indifferent. She would have never thought she would miss his attention, his teasing, his damn games. But she does. She’s been a pawn, but now she’s a pawn that’s been set aside, and it’s worse. And the chess master’s eyes are always focused on the board.

He’s brushed her aside without effort, and she finds it surprisingly hard to deal with that. She writes coded reports for Lady Webb – because it’s easier to forgive the half-truth, those lies by omissions that she should have noticed, having used similar tricks herself, numerous times – it’s easier to be a dutiful agent once more when Thaos isn’t there to whisper temptations into her ear.

Now she does that herself. Tries to forget him, but can’t. How his body felt against hers. Even how he mocked her by giving her what she wanted and showing that she was wrong, that he knew better even when it came to her desires. Not surprising, to think of it – he mastered the art of reading minds long ago.

So when a few days later he asks her to accompany him to Ashfall – tells her, really, for it’s an order, not a question, just presented in a subtler, more acceptable manner – she grudgingly agrees. All her obligations demand she went with him, to see what will happen, what Magran’s answer will be, if any, so there is no choice left for her in this matter.

Most of her thoughts are those that she’d rather stay behind and take a rest from his company. But there is a part of her that cherishes the prospect of having him all for herself for a few days, even if all they will do is walk together.

* * *

 

Ashfall is... a force more than a temple, at its soul. Blackened trunks and trees still burning, the hum of flames a constant hymn to Magran’s glory. It’s easy to believe this fire is powerful enough to burn everything that will stand in its way.

She is in awe, even if the place makes her anxious. Thaos is unimpressed. He has probably been here many times before, in many lives, but this goes deeper, she can tell. But she doesn’t bother asking. Besides, knowing what questions will be left unanswered is something of an answer in itself.

This is a man, she realises, who has talked to the gods. Not just in prayer, like faithful kith do, not even like the clergy of Eothas used to. He has talked to the gods as one talks to another mortal – not just pleas and repentance and thanksgiving, but actual conversations, answers and questions and orders.

He is chosen. He is cursed. She looks at him and sees past the high priest, past the holy man, past the shepherd, past the peace on his face and assurance in his voice and the straight, proud line of his shoulders. His shadow is that of a man exhausted past what a kith mind can endure. His soul is the strongest she has ever seen. He is cursed. He is chosen.

She is utterly entranced with him, with the mystery and all the hidden layers, with all the secrets outlines of which she can glimpse. She can’t help but admire this man for the sheer force of his indomitable will that still keeps him upright and walking where others would have fallen long ago.

There will be nothing left but ash and bones at the end of that road. Nothing left of his soul but a handful of dust. He knows; she can see it in his gaze sometimes, when he looks ahead, into the future. And still he keeps going. If Lady Webb is strong, there are no words left to describe Thaos.

He turns, as if he’s heard her thoughts, and gives her a quizzical look, but no words. She doesn’t mind. He’s never lied to her, not outright, but his silence offers nothing but truth – complete truth. Except that she is not smart enough to read it.

“Smarter than you think,” Thaos says quietly. He beckons at her with his hand. “Come, _ŵen_. There is much we have to do.”

They walk into the underground temple complex. Forges and smithies make up the most of it, and they pass many on their way. The actual sanctum itself is small, compared to the size of the whole structure, just a round chamber with a tall sculpture of Magran holding a flame in each hand. The whole statue is on fire.

The chamber is full people. Most of them are Magran’s clergy, but there are some faithful among them, as well as some priests of other gods – a handful of Berathians and a Giftbearer of Ondra. She can also sense two other agents among the crowd, and silently they acknowledge each other’s presence.

The high priestess of Magran – a tall, greying human woman – nods at Thaos as soon as they enter. He has been expected.

She hears his thought and steps aside, mingling with the crowd, while Thaos walks up to the priestess. They greet quietly – an exchange of glances and a few hushed words. Then, reluctantly, the woman gives another nod and steps aside, leaving him alone in an empty space at Magran’s stone feet.

Ah, of course. Raedceras has Waidwen, a commoner who became the avatar of a god, and that is why Dyrwood should have their chosen, too. A man who came from nowhere and lent their goddess his lips to speak with.

Thaos tilts his head up, as if looking at the flaming statue’s face, but his eyes are closed, arms raised in a gesture of devotion and pleading – or casting a spell. And suddenly a spark flies down from Magran’s hand, lands at his feet and flares up into a pillar of fire that consumes him whole.

She puts both hands to her mouth to stifle a scream. And then slowly lets them drop to her sides, because Thaos is surrounded by flames – _real_ flames – but not burning. A trial, she thinks. A trial of fire, of courage, of faith. That is why it had to be him. Magran knows he is worthy.

As abruptly as it sprang to life, the fire dissipates. But when Thaos turns, his eyes and hands are still alight.

“Magran is with us,” he announces, in a loud, clear voice.

The clergy and the devotees cheer. The high priestess of Magran and a dark-haired acolyte standing at her side are looking at Thaos with hate and jealousy in their eyes. He walks past them, but if he notices, he gives no sign.

“Accept her blessing and carry her fire within you,” he says to the crowd, raising his hands.

When he turns to the high priestess, the woman grits her teeth. But has no choice but to kneel before him, let him put his hands over her head and accept his blessing. All others follow suit.

She doesn’t. There are many things she would do if she had to, but she will _not_ kneel before him. Not now, not ever. Quietly, she merges into the shadows and slips away from the temple. There are better things for her to do than watch his grand spectacle.

Careful not to be seen, she leaves a note in one of their secret message boxes in the woods. Thaos is still in the temple and does not accompany her, but she’s certain he knows of this place either way already. It doesn’t matter, because he wants those particular news to reach Lady Webb as much as she does. Whatever his reasons, they all have a common cause now – Dyrwood. And showing Eothas there are lines even gods should not cross.

The note is short, only four words. _Magran is with us_. Just as Lady Webb said to her, they’ll fight fire with fire. She only hopes that when they try to burn Eothas out of Waidwen, they will not perish with him. That this decision will not scorch Dyrwood.

Deep in her soul, something stirs. A foreboding. There will be a price to pay, sooner or later. The war is looming over the borders and the time of payment is coming. She knows, she feels it in her heart.

Those four words she sends Lady Webb will be her last report. She is tired of games. She is tired of everything. She wants to forget, and they only place she can seek oblivion is in Thaos’ arms.

Lies by omission. Not the only place she can look in. The only place she _wants_ to. He wouldn’t refuse her, she knows – it’s a part of his own game. For some reason, Thaos thinks it would change where her loyalties lie – lie, ah, she laughs at the choice of words inwardly – but it wouldn’t. Not anymore.

She has been used from the very beginning, first by Lady Webb and then also by Thaos. And she’s had enough. Tired, so tired of being a pawn. For once, she wants to play her own game. Survival. Life. If only for a moment.

And in that moment, she wants to forget everything else and focus on the mystery that this man is – the one who’s never hidden his intentions, but managed to draw her towards him anyway. Maybe it’s because he offered truth, from the start, however crude and cold it was? She’s not so conceited to think he’s a secret she’ll be able to unravel; she just wants to touch it. Just get enough taste to recognise it for poison, to prove herself she should stay away.

That night, when they’re setting camp, she watches Thaos lighting a fire. Not using magic, but with Ixamitl matches. It really should stop surprising her that he never does what she’s expecting.

They sit, watching the rising flames, and eat a simple dinner – bread and cheese. For all the luxuries he can allow himself – not many, but those few are of the best quality – it still astonishes her how little he can settle for when he has to, like on the road. A woollen cloak that he can use as a blanket, some bread and water, a few twigs to light a fire, a cold stream to wash in. He is, above all, _adaptable_.

They do not talk. She does not feel like chatting, and Thaos never speaks a word if there is no reason behind it. Small talk is not an abstract concept to him, but he refuses to engage in that unless he has to.

So instead, she watches. His face, both young and old; timeless. All the lifetimes of experience hovering over him like a cloud. Not in a physical sense, but in her mind’s eyes, she can see it. Part of his allure, perhaps? That bitter wisdom that is at the heart of it, deep dark water at the bottom of the twin wells of his eyes.

When he gets up to spread his bedroll on the ground, she walks over to him. His eyebrows arch, but he says nothing.

She touches his arm. “I’m tired of games,” she says quietly. “Even mine.”

Thaos looks at her, into her eyes. She calmly bears his stare.

“Don’t make me spell it out,” she adds, suddenly too self-aware. Is she really doing that? Outright propositioning him? Making it sound like her own idea? But it is. She’s spend days in his company and it’s getting difficult to focus, and she has to do something about that. How foolish it would be to die because she was distracted, because she didn’t get laid?

Half-truths, half-truths... It’s not about just finding someone to sleep with. It’s about _him_. There’s something in Thaos that draws her in, despite her earlier apprehensions. Or maybe because of them, she’s not certain.

“The basic advantage of being a cipher,” he explains with a scholarly air as he leans towards her, “is that you rarely have to spell anything out. Not when it’s enough to think about it.”

He lets her kiss him, opens his mouth to her, kisses her back. And then pulls away. She follows, craning her neck, and he gives her another kiss, deep and teasing and very brief, barely even a taste.

She wants to slap him or to shout, to do anything, but just glares at him instead.

Thaos chuckles. “You didn’t really think I was going to bed you here, did you? Wouldn’t recommend that, _ŵen_. There’s nothing pleasant in having cold, damp grass under your back, believe me.”

Her eyebrows arch. “Is that experience talking?”

“Yes.” A single word that dismisses her attempt at mockery. “Do you mind?”

“No.” She shakes her head, trying not to imagine grass instead of a pillow. “I’m not naive.” There must have been many other women. There will be many after her. “Not that naive, anyway.”

“Besides, I’m not going to risk anything that foolish when there are Raedceras spies in Dyrwood, and now the Magranites are probably keeping an eye on us as well.” He’s back to his usual distanced, no-nonsense demeanour. “I’d rather chose a different cause of death than a knife in the dark. And yes, it’s experience talking.” He lies down on the bedroll. “Your watch first, _ŵen_. Wake me at midnight.”

She doesn’t. No point in waking him when she wouldn’t be able to fall asleep anyway.


	4. Chapter 4

Lady Webb is probably trying to contact her; she is almost certain there is an encrypted message waiting in one of their secret mailboxes, or maybe another agent trying to find her. But there is no time for that. Everyone is preparing for war, the whole of Dyrwood – and the Leaden Key is preparing, too. A whirlwind of plans and arrangements, and Thaos in the midst of it, the eye of the storm. They are setting out for Norwaech in two days, and he asked her – a question, not an order, this time – to accompany him.

Of course she will. There is something brewing near Halgot Citadel, a trap perhaps, something involving Magran, and she would rather be nowhere else. To know, at least, to see firsthand. Maybe to learn something from that. Maybe to have a small part in saving Dyrwood.

“You won’t tell me what you’re planning, will you?” she asks Thaos that evening, when they are both in his room, head bowed over a map of the Eastern Reach spread on the table.

He spares her a glance, barely. It’s not brusqueness, she knows, just deep focus. “It doesn’t concern you, Sîla.”

Her eyebrows arch; he rarely calls her by name. That serious, then?

“It concerns all of Dyrwood.” She takes a step towards him. “And I am a part of it.”

He takes one last look at the map, then folds it together. She opens her mouth to speak further, but is distracted by his hands, again. Hands of a scholar, a priest – but they’re stronger than they look, she knows. Hands that can strangle nations, if that is Woedica’s will. Perhaps with the blessings of others they will be strong enough to strangle a stray god.

Thaos is watching her closely. “What interesting thoughts you have.”

“Not interesting enough, apparently.” She sighs. “Tell me where we’re going, at least. Some Engwithan ruins no one but the Key knows about?”

“No one but me knows about,” he corrects. “Evon Dewr.”

“That bridge is not a secret...”

“I said nothing about a bridge,” he interrupts.

Just a piece of an answer, but enough for her to find other pieces herself. Engwithan ruins, then. Which one of those had been his home, she wonders. If any at all.

Thaos touches her chin with the tip of his index finger, gently tilting her face up. From him, it could almost be a sign of affection.

“You pity me? Or is it just compassion?”

She looks into her soul and finds neither. He chose his path, she knows. “Merely curiosity.”

“Curiosity...” A corner of his lips curves up briefly. “A very curious girl, aren’t you?”

Ah, back to that familiar game. She meets his eyes. “A woman.”

His face is inches from hers and she can’t focus. His eyes, his hands, his voice, that brief, gently mocking smile, that maddeningly light touch that is not even a promise but makes her crave more. They are in his chambers and there is no danger and she’s had enough.

“A very curious woman,” she whispers, grabs a handful of his robe and pulls him to her.

He doesn’t resist, meets her kiss with an open mouth. She shivers when his hand brushes across her neck. Then it’s in her hair, his other hand on the small of her back as he presses her to him and her shoulders to the cold stone.

Maybe he’ll take her up against the wall and it will be quick, lust, over soon, she just needs to get this out of her mind. And something purely physical and simple would surely cure her of him. But of course, with Thaos, nothing is simple.

“We could do it as you wish to,” he says in a low voice. “But it didn’t work well last time, did it?”

“Is this the moment you tell me why?”

He doesn’t laugh, as she expects him to. He doesn’t mock her. He is serious, understanding.

“You’re not Eydis,” he says, brushing a strand of hair out of her face. “Both of you are gifted ciphers and can be ruthless, but you, _ŵen_ , you never wanted power. Not really. That which you hold within your mind is enough.” His insight is much more frightening than any threats he could think of. “No, you want something else.” He kisses the corner of her mouth softly, brushes his lips up her cheek. “Come here,” he mutters as he steps back, taking her by the hand.

He moves a few feet back, towards the bed, sits down and pulls her into his lap. It’s strange, being so close to him, surprisingly intimate even though all they’re doing now is holding each other, his hands on her hips to steady her, her arms around his neck for balance.

“Like this,” he whispers and kisses her.

Or maybe she kisses him, she’s not certain. Because he’s right, and he knows better, and when he’s holding her like this she feels that she _belongs_ somewhere again. That is what she wanted. What she needed. To belong. She falls against him, soft like water, looks into his eyes and drowns.

* * *

 

They’re lying in his bed together. Thaos is asleep, with his back to her. She could easily kill him if she wanted to. Perhaps he wouldn’t even wake. Except that she doesn’t want to do that, not any longer.

For a moment, she listens to his even breaths. She moves her fingertips up his arm, stroking softly. He knew it would end like this, he knew she would not be a threat afterwards. She doesn’t mind.

Leaning on her elbow, she moves closer and kisses his shoulder, tasting the saltiness of sweat on his skin. All her doing. It makes her proud. This is the kind of power she didn’t even knew she wanted – that she can now see her mark on him. Realising that in order to gain, he had to give something.

She shifts until she’s flush against his back, her hand on his arm and her nose buried in his hair. It’s soft and smells of incense and, faintly, of fragrant oils, and it feels like Vailian silk between her fingers.

Obviously, she’s as much a pawn to him as she’s been to Lady Webb, but at least he’s been honest about it from the start, however unpleasant that was. She knew what she was getting into, this time. In a way, it made things easier.

She will keep reporting to Lady Webb, of course. That’s what Thaos wants. And while she’ll never be a Leaden Key acolyte and never swear an oath to Woedica, she is his now.

For a moment, she thinks of other agents the Dunryd Row has lost to the Leaden Key over the years. How many have been here, she wonders. In his bed, with his thoughts in their minds. Briefly, she thinks of Lady Webb, too, almost with pity – young Eydis who left Thaos only to become his most apt student. Who had the name of the ducs and the chosen of the gods as a lover, and chose power over that, while it was possible to have all.

She knows why, of course. She’d have done the same. There are lines one cannot cross without losing oneself. Except that Lady Webb’s had enough power and shrewdness to stand her ground. She knows that had she been in that situation, she’d never have had a chance. That if she ever had to oppose Thaos, she would die.

But she will not be able to stand beside him. No one would. There are many who would welcome the blessings he was given, but none who could bear the weight of his curse.

Thaos stirs, as if in response to her thoughts, and she moves away as he rolls onto his back and reaches out to her. She leans over him, looking down at his face, at his hair spilled across the pillow, just like in that memory and yet so different. Like this, it’s right. Perfect.

“Was it what you wanted?” he asks in a low voice that’s still a little rough from sleep, one hand at the back of her neck, the other brushing down her side.

It was and it wasn’t. Wasn’t what she expected or imagined. For once, with him, everything was simple, straightforward. Nothing fancy. But he didn’t need fancy, not with the way he touched her mind and made it burn like Magran’s fires and then soothe like Ondra’s waters. The way he threaded his thoughts through hers. She should have guessed that’s how it would be with another cipher. Exquisite.

“More,” she whispers, and it’s both an answer and a plea. “More.”


	5. Chapter 5

There are rumours; scarce, but she still reports to Lady Webb, and Dunryd Row agents are perking their ears up at every new mention of what is being called Waidwen’s curse, at the mutters that mortals shouldn’t have raised their hands to strike a god. Magran might have wished for Eothas’ demise, kith mutter, but why did she kill all those she’d blessed with her fire?

Slowly the rumours spread, and fear and despair spread with them. And the dread that’s been growing in her heart like a fungus now blooms into certainty. Lady Webb warned Dyrwood would have to pay the price. It is paying now, she is sure of it.

One look at Thaos’ face is all the confirmation she needs. He’s never lied, not outright, anyway, and he does not lie about this either. He simply say nothing, but it’s a meaningful silence. With him, it always is.

She no longer visits his bed. She can’t, not when she knows. She couldn’t bear to feel his hands on her body, knowing that there are children born soulless across Dyrwood because of something he did for his Queen. There is but one woman in his life, one constant, and that is Woedica. And now it’s apparent that Thaos would condemn the world if his goddess asked for it.

Lady Webb left when doubts began plaguing her. S _he_ will not have such luxury. Nor enough strength to survive, not this, not confronting him. It’s merely the question of when – when she will face him and thus ask him to carry out her death sentence.

But she can’t just sit here and keep reporting to Dunryd Row like nothing happened. Because she’s been working for the Leaden Key for months, and all that’s happening now – she is guilty of that, too. But she can’t undo that and Thaos would never answer her question if she asked, and all that is left is that last shred of honour and dignity. She will die fighting against what she knows is wrong. And whatever Thaos’ real goal is, she will have no part in it, not anymore.

This time, she does not try to sneak up on him. It would be pointless, anyway; after they became lovers he’s so attuned to her thoughts she’d never be able to hide. And she’s not strong enough to kill him.

She finds him in the inner sanctum. How appropriate, she thinks sardonically. He’d be able to make her death an offering to Woedica. Ah, no matter. Let him have it. She agreed to give her life away for Dyrwood, after all.

Thaos turns to her slowly, and she notices he’s wearing his ceremonial robes, just without the headdress.

“All on my account?” Her voice is mocking.

“Would you rather I didn’t, Sîla?” This – him calling her by name – this alone speaks of the importance of this moment.

“I’d rather you didn’t do many things,” she answers calmly. Too tired for anxiety, too tired. Just one mistake, a bit of overconfidence, and where did it take her?

“Too late for that, _ŵen_.” He starts walking towards her. “You know it.”

They meet halfway. He watches her for a moment, then extends his hand towards her. She takes it, accepts this silent invitation and steps closer, until she’s almost in his arms.

“Won’t you try fighting?” Thaos asks quietly. “You’ve always fought, even against yourself.”

“And what good did it do?”

Still, she tries, because that’s what she should do. She puts all the strength of her mind and will and soul into this one blast of energy. It doesn’t hurt him. Of course it doesn’t. He was prepared.

There are sparks dancing across the mirror of his mind, but they quickly fade. Just like that. How can one fight a mirror? A bottomless well?

“A valiant effort.” It doesn’t sound like praise; merely him stating a fact. In a way, it shows even better that on some level, he appreciates her attempt.

“Furtive,” she says bitterly.

“But you made it,” he mutters against her ear. “Take solace in that.”

“It’s a cold comfort.”

“Better than none, isn’t it?” His fingers caress her cheek. “You’ve been an adequate opponent, _ŵen_.”

She chokes on a hollow laugh. “Adequate?” How pathetic. Humiliating.

“Good,” he concedes. “Sharp. A fine dagger. But not Durgan steel. Not as strong as Eydis.” His words sting more than she expected.

“I wouldn’t be here if I was more like her.”

“No, you wouldn’t. You’ve been a pleasant game, though.” He brushes his thumb across her lips, smiling at her. “I enjoyed playing you.”

“Skip the courtesies.”

He cradles her face in his hands, like a lover would. A real lover. “So quick to refuse kindness?”

“Then show me kindness, Thaos.” She looks into his eyes. “Just be done with this.”

He nods. “I will make it quick.”

“That’s supposed to comfort me?”

“Comfort? No, _ŵen_.” His thumb brushes across her cheek. “Comfort is a reward for loyalty. You will be rewarded for how you fought.”

“Rewarded?” She snorts.

“With this,” he says as he leans to kiss her.

She can sense the incoming wave, recognises it instantly. The power of her own mind; not enough to kill him, but perhaps just enough to kill her, now that she has no strength left. But he’s kissing her and for another moment she belongs, and she couldn’t care less.

He shattered her into pieces and put her together to his liking, but she doesn’t even hold that against him, not any longer. Because he’s never lied about his intentions. There’s some honesty in doing things this way. It’s cruel, it’s bitter; it’s honesty nonetheless. Liberating, even, having been able to become a pawn because she chose to, knowing what she signed up for this time. She’s almost grateful that he did not lie.

There’s little kindness in him and no mercy at all, and his truth is lethal, but it’s still truth. Besides, none of this matters now, not anymore. He’s kissing her and he’s tender and it’s comforting, despite what he said.

The power of her mind alone is not enough to kill her. Almost, but not quite. Perfect balance. Somehow, she always knew how it would end.

She’s slowly running out of air and tries to pull away, but he doesn’t let her. She has to draw breath from his mouth. Incense. Suffocating. Bittersweet. Perfect.

Thaos looks into her eyes and lays a feather down onto the scales.


End file.
